Thomas pitched his rifle to one of the men and grabbed hold of a few roots to assist in his climb up the face of the embankment. Once he reached the top, the team huddled around him as he spoke, “Remember we’re here to save the women. No mercy for the Butcher or his men.” A few shots echoed outward from the camp. Someone’s still shooting. That’s a good sign. “This is it. The final push.”
“Then, let’s go!”
As they approached from the north, moving into a portion of the brush that had not been taken by flame, Thomas gagged—the indescribable smell of cooked flesh overwhelmed him. Holy… Some bodies remained intact, sprawled out across the pavement, but most had not been so lucky. The initial spray of the Molotov’s reduced them to nothing more than burnt heaps. A call for help—the only word discernible above the scant gunfire and shouting, but there was no telling from where it came. The camp lay in ruin.
The area west of the gazebo was well lit—the flames expanding into the forest—anything within its indiscriminate reach became fuel. From Riley’s post there were still muzzle flashes. South of those came a few more. Charlie team made it. Another shot—each flash thus far came from positions assigned during the briefing. They must have someone holed up. Unable to visibly place their target, Thomas sent two Soldiers and the medic off toward James’s location, leaving him and Krenshaw to hold their own. Crack! Crack! Near misses shaved a tree of its bark. The three departing members of Delta team dove to the ground and took to crawling. “Get them some breathing room!” Thomas yelled.
“Retaining wall! Far side of the gazebo!” Krenshaw swung his rifle wide and Thomas’s followed. The two returned fire, fracturing bits of concrete into the air as they missed. The guard bolted around the side. Alright, There’s at least two more of his men out there. “I thought they would have given up by now.”
“Can’t expect that from wild dogs!” Krenshaw shouted.
“Over there!”
The guard’s retreat must have pushed the women from hiding, bunching them together like sheep on the hillside. They screamed, still in an absolute panic, ducking and hiding, trying their best to avoid the conflict. Thomas was sure they wanted to run off, but could only imagine the questions running through their heads. Where will we go? How will we survive? Can we survive? The Butcher had corrupted their sense of value, leaving them broken and completely reliant on their handlers.
“Krenshaw! We have to get those women out of here.”
They pushed back from their position, leveled their rifles, then broke toward the gazebo’s hillside. Crack! The guard emerged from the nearside of the gazebo, sending a round buzzing past Thomas’s side. Crack! Another barely missed. Without breaking stride, Thomas spun his rifle toward the man. Crack! Crack! Crack! The stranger’s body twisted awkwardly, and he fell onto his side but quickly tried to gather his feet underneath him. It was no use as Krenshaw incapacitated him with a well-placed shot to the stomach. Someone else is going to have to handle him if he gets up. We have to get the women on their way before they get hurt.
They rounded the nearside of the gazebo and were immediately greeted by screams.
“Don’t kill us!”
“Please don’t!”
A distant gunshot. More screams and several women took off running.
“Wait!” Cindy called to the others. “I know him!” She turned to Thomas, tears and dirt covered her face.
He barely recognized her from before—this woman he had spent only a brief moment with inside that unsavory tent. But it proved long enough to build trust between them. He was probably the only man who ever lay next to her since the world ended that didn’t try to take advantage of her situation.
“Save us! Please, oh God,” Cindy sobbed. “Get us the fuck out of here!”
“You’re wrong!” another woman shrieked, tugging at Cindy, begging her to run, but she wouldn’t. “They’re here to kill us!”
“No. They’re not.” Cindy’s voice was calm.
Thomas reached his hand out and Cindy took it. Her soft hand trembled in his, creating stillness to the world while the rest of the camp continued to fall apart. There was something about her, although in this moment Thomas couldn’t tell what.
“I…” Thomas started, but the hysterical woman’s incessant begging took him from the moment.
She tugged once more at Cindy, bringing her away from Thomas, but instead of fleeing, Cindy spun around and slapped the woman across the face. “Shut up! He’s here to help us, damn it!”
Thomas’s mouth dropped. Maybe she didn’t feel what I did.
The woman held her cheek. Both she and Thomas stood there stunned, shaken with this unexpected outburst. Cindy began apologizing, but Thomas interrupted her, “We’re here to save you, point blank, nothing more.”
More women came forward.
“Take your group and head down there.” Thomas pointed to the road that eventually curled around to the south. “All the way around. Wait there and we’ll get you somewhere safe.”
They smiled—no one appeared to second guess Thomas’s order as they fled.
A final volley of gunfire hit the camp. Thomas and Krenshaw threw themselves to the ground, taking cover behind the concrete retaining wall. A ping of metal. The sharp crack of concrete followed by a distinct cry from a short distance away. Then nothing. An impossible silence seemed to hit the camp in that instant. The adrenaline pushed at Thomas to do something, but he denied the suggestion, patience being a virtue at the moment. Hidden behind the wall at the foot of the hill, he waited, hoping for some indication that it was over. Mere silence could never be trusted.
“Come out, Butcher! Your men are dead!” Thomas heard the voice announce from behind him. “We’ll take you alive, if you’d like. Or dead.”
Who the hell? Thomas’s eyes went wide, irate with whoever would take command, take what was his to determine. He turned to Krenshaw. “Get around to the front, now!” They both lifted their backs from the wall—Krenshaw peeled off to his left, but Thomas bolted for the stairs.
With each drop of his boot, his anger grew. Thomas had seen the Butcher’s temperament, he didn’t feel that alive should be an option. In the little time he had spent in the camp, nothing existed that could build a case for redemption. The Butcher could not be rehabilitated. There were no men to rehabilitate here. Only the women and children could be saved. If they could be saved. Maybe they too were beyond help, but that determination would not be made today, not with a bullet like it would be with the men. The women would take time.
The moment the top step felt the crunch of his boot, his vision was pinpoint—the edges of the world a fading black. He brushed past a slumped body bent over a rail—only a foot caught between the balusters prevented it from flipping. He hardly acknowledged its existence as he approached the railing overlooking the carnage. Ten of his men, five rifles toward the bathrooms, the remainder guarded the rear, hitting the wood line with their rail-mounted lights. None of the dead among them mattered. The Butcher was cornered. Nowhere to go.
“He dies!” Thomas shouted, leaning forward between the columns of the gazebo. “There is no other way. Captain Able assigned me to this trial, so it’s my decision.”
James moved toward him, separating himself from the others, taking the stairs to the top of the hill. “This joker doesn’t deserve our mercy,” he said. “Look at this man here.” He threw his rifle’s light across the body still hanging from the tree. “There was no trial for him. There wasn’t anything. He just strung hi—”